Her Eyes
by C'est Ma Vie
Summary: This is a story of Edward's forgotten past, so seemingly insignificant that he never mentioned it in the story. xD Hey, it's conceivable. Rated T probably, just to be safe. This is an EdwardxOC story-don't like, don't read. R&R, flames are useless.:


**REALLY IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE**

Hello, dear readers. For those of you who've been game enough to click on this story, despite it being a not-so-popular pairing (EdwardxOC), congratulations! You're in for a great tale. I hope.

Now during the course of writing this, I realized some of you may not believe my innocent intentions in writing this. My aim, if you don't know, is to take care (my own little way, since I can't actually do anything about it -.-) of one of the worst characters in fiction history. Her name? You guessed it: Bella Swan. I can see little prejudices forming in your head right now. "You only want to do this so your character can have Edward!" "Your character is a self-insert/Mary Sue!" Well, dear reader, take a deep breath and a step back. I'm not in this for self-fulfillment in that sense. Fictional characters like Edward Cullen are not the kind I drool over. (You wanna talk drool-worthy characters... how about Lestat de Lioncourt or Fred Weasley? XD) I just feel, being a writer and a creature of habit, that this is a good creative outlet for both my frustration that people look up to Bella Mary Sue Swan, and my wish (put off by procrastination) just write a full story for once! :D

Sorry to bore you with this super-long run-on A/N. If you TL;DRed, here's a poisonous cookie and a summary: don't judge my character till you've met her, and you're not gonna in this chapter. Also, Bella-bashing may be included here. But no icky violence; I'm bad at writing those scenes. ;)

Without further ado, I present to you the prologue of my story, Her Eyes. :D

* * *

_Wisconsin, 1942_

The red, brown, and golden-orange leaves danced across the path and scattered into swirling winds at his feet. He, however, took little notice of this simple beauty. His mind was singularly focused, his walk purposeful. Although he could, with his vast stores of memory and thought, take a moment to appreciate his surroundings, he did not. He remained completely detached, and in the same way autumn's children paid him no mind as they pirouetted across the sidewalk.

During this strangest time of day, twilight, the clouds could be seen clearly around the sun which had not yet set; however, by turning to the other side of the sky, one could observe the moon, luminous and very near full. This odd occurrence lent excellent visibility even for those _not_ gifted with extraordinary senses. His topaz eyes needed very little adjusting as he walked briskly down the darkening street. He was one of the few shadowy figures left out in the night, one of maybe a few dozen people who still had business in the usually lively city.

The man with the golden eyes, in point of fact, was heading home. Despite his stubborn focus on putting one foot in front of the other, he could have tuned in to the thoughts of the passerby and learned their purpose. This man had to return to his wife and child; this woman was late for a spur-of-the-moment late-night meeting; this child, little more than six or seven, still played in the front yard under the watchful scrutiny of his grandmother. The reason, nonetheless, for this man's detachment, was understandable in his own eyes. Anything he saw, he rationalized, could trigger the memory again… how, indeed, had it been brought to the front of his mind so easily, after so long?

Now that it had, he was doing his utmost to force it back down, because should he linger on it, an impossible wish would be formed in his mind. Well… he assumed his wish was unattainable; but the odds were so highly stacked against him that it would be senseless to suppose anything else. If he did, his hopes would rise, and then, like the wind which brings the leaves up in a torrent of color and then allows them to be pulled back down to the earth, he would sink even further into depression.

Despite all of this, as he walked past a hurried-looking woman on the other side of the street, he couldn't stop himself; he looked at her eyes, knowing beforehand, and got that same jolt as he saw the electric blue that so closely mimicked _hers..._ just like the girl he'd seen today that first set off the memory. But neither the young girl earlier nor the woman now had the same fire behind the eyes - the odd determination to be detached and at the same time compassionate. He'd seen hair colors like _hers_ before - red was not as uncommon as one might think, though perhaps none were as saturated. However, her exact shade of blue was apparently a novelty. In all the years since he'd seen her last, a true match had never been found. The same held true for her character - but he didn't want his thoughts to turn into a monologue about her. After all, it was long past the time for reflections.

He came to the winding path that lead off the main street and into the woods where his house was nested. He sped up his walk and arrived at the door, one hand on the brass handle, thinking. If he entered the house looking depressed, it would lead to a long discussion with Carlisle, his father figure and creator. If he pretended everything was fine, there was a chance Carlisle would see through it; he was very adept at seeing through the façade of a fake smile. Either way, the man reasoned, Carlisle would find out. He might as well get it over with; besides, lying was not his forte.

He turned the handle and found Carlisle at the kitchen table - never used for eating, quite obviously - staring intently at the newspaper in his hands. The man sat down, closing the door lightly beforehand. Carlisle, as per the plan, could instantly see something was bothering the man as he looked up to meet his troubled eyes.

"Edward, what's wrong?" Carlisle said concernedly, setting the newspaper aside.

Edward sighed. "You may not want to listen to the whole thing, Carlisle. I'm a complicated person in nearly all aspects of my life. This one isn't exempt."

Carlisle chuckled a bit. "We've learned quite a bit about each other already. We might as well scrape beyond the surface."

Before continuing, Carlisle focused his eyes on Edward's and seemed to be thinking. Getting the message, Edward tuned in; however new he was to the fact that he had this power, he knew how to use it.

_Rosalie and Emmett are in the house, upstairs, and Esme's in the study; is this something you'd rather they did not hear?_

A single shake of the head gave Carlisle his answer, and he nodded to Edward. "Go on, then."

* * *

End of the prologue. In the next chapter, assuming anyone reads this, you'll hear Edward's story, but it'll be like a flashback. More fun to write than dialogue. xD

Also, a quick note; I set the story in Wisconsin, assuming they never moved from when they saved Esme. The year is kind of random, but it's set so it's before the family is all the way complete. I would have set it so it's just Carlisle and him, but then the whole "years since I was a mortal" thing wouldn't exactly seem sincere.

Lemme know how I'm doing. Constructive criticism, compliments, anything will do - except flames. Those will be used to roast marshmallows and kill Bella Swan. :)

REVIEW! ER... PLEASE? :)


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